


Abortion

by Myffanwy



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Abortion, Abuse, Discussion of Abortion, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 00:42:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16186529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myffanwy/pseuds/Myffanwy
Summary: This is for the people who have struggled in the same event.Those who have been molested.Those who have had an abortion.Those who have had to keep a secret.For those who will.For those anticipating one.And for those who need to know we exist, and we are stronger than you realize.This is not for pity.This is for strength.You are not alone.





	Abortion

**Author's Note:**

> Please, PLEASE do not read if you are sensitive to this material.
> 
> This is your last warning, but I cannot keep silent about this.
> 
> The 10th year is upon me.
> 
> And I cannot be stopped.
> 
> I am in CANADA, and this was 10 years ago. Policies and procedures may have changed since then, but do NOT comment if you are from the USA and tell me that I was inaccurate.

Abortion

I never wanted this to be my defining moment.  
But I never wanted to be defined as teen mom either.

Especially not with -his- child.

***

High school is supposed to be the best four years of your life.  
Ten years later I know that was a solid lie, but I still feel like I was robbed of something I could have had.

The day after -it- happened I was chastised heavily by my parents for coming home after dark, which in my overly-protective household was a big no-no. We didn’t have cell-phones, and I kept thinking maybe that would have protected me or prevented it from happening. I could have called someone to get me or even just make something up.

I had no excuse.

I didn’t tell my parents what happened.

I sat in my room that I shared with my sister and pretended to go to sleep.

***

The following week I tried to go behind my parents back and talk to the school liaison officer. I told her directly.  
“I was raped.”  
She didn’t even hesitate.  
“That doesn’t happen to girls like you.”  
She meant fat girls.

I tried again the next day, to a male officer.  
“I was raped.”  
Again, no hesitation.  
"Have you told your parents?”  
I was honest when I said no.  
He smirked.  
“Why not?”  
I looked at my feet.  
“Because they probably wouldn’t believe me.”  
He chuckled.  
“Then why would I?”

These were people employed by our school for our ‘safety’.

***

I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat.  
Missing my period was not something unusual, as I was very frequently stressed beyond reason, being in honours classes as well as several extracurricular activities.  
Vomiting in general was also not uncommon as my siblings were still quite young and brought home a plethora of diseases.

But I knew.

I had been going to an LGBT youth group at the time. They handed out condoms like they were garbage gummy candy, and I told them the least they could do was supply pregnancy tests.  
They were probably garbage too, but I couldn’t be picky.

I snuck one away when I thought no one was looking.

I was never alone, much less during the morning so the chances of my taking it first thing were slim to none. My family was very open about snooping in my private diaries and belongings so I took it there and then in the youth room bathroom, knowing the answer.

I had really prayed that for once I wasn’t such a know-it-all and I could be wrong.

I wasn’t.

I told myself I couldn’t cry. I already knew it was true so there’s no point in crying about it now.

I didn’t cry.

My town did not have an abortion clinic, in fact, the nearest one was over an hour away, and the only one that allowed you to go in without parental consent was almost 2 hours away.

I could not drive, I had no car.

There’s no way I could tell my parents.

***

I told my mom.

The first part at least.

She laughed and said “By who?”

I told her.

She said “You’ve known him for years! And his dad works with yours, there’s no way.”

I said it did.

She said “I’m more upset at the fact you had sex.”

I never thought about it that way.

Maybe she was right. Maybe I just didn’t fight hard enough.

Maybe by me not being able to stop it was subliminal? Maybe it’s because I secretly wanted it?

Maybe my no wasn’t loud enough which obviously meant I deserved it…

Maybe by me not being strong enough I was allowing him to do it meaning it was actually consensual?

I guess it truly was my fault.

“I won’t tell your dad but you are never allowed to see a boy outside of school again. And no more after school activities, you need to come straight home. I knew that whole ‘lesbian thing’ was a ruse.

***

I made my appointment. I set the date.  
Two weeks.

In the afternoon.

I had stopped going to my friends, or talking to them first, which meant they ignored me completely. Any other time this maybe would have bothered me…but I knew that would happen, and for once I just let it go.

No one ever talked to me first.

I was unimportant to everyone.

Nobody cared.

No one even asked if I was okay.

I had eraser burns up my left arm.

I had multiple cuts on the underside of my arm.

I wrote nasty words in pen ink that smudged almost immediately.

I wore hoodies all the time, even before, so people never even thought to ask.

***  
I cannot stand this.

All I can think about is being pregnant.

There is SOMETHING THERE.

I never drink coffee.

I drink a coffee a day now, and I consume Red Bull like it’s water.

I’m secretly hoping for a miscarriage.

I have reached the point where I don’t care. It’s not going to be there for long anyway, might as well try an alternative method.

I did not have a miscarriage.

***

I sold several of my video games and movies that I knew no one would notice gone.

I faked a permission slip to the city, which was common, and I did it for the same day another class was going. I knew my mom would find out about the lie, but I didn’t care.

I extensively researched my passage. A bus to the next city was easy, and from there, there was an express train into the larger city. From there, there was a bus to the hospital, where the clinic was located.

I made sure I did not need parents permission to use the train.

If I timed it right, I could be there half an hour early.

I skipped school.

I made my buses on time.

I was a whole hour early.

I triple checked everything. Wallet. ID. Cash…that’s all I had.

When I made the appointment they told me several things:

1) Eat a light meal beforehand.  
2)Wear clean, comfy underwear.  
3)Do not drive for 24 hours.  
4)You may have one companion accompany you but they must have legal ID and if they were a male or immediate family they may require a criminal record check.  
5)You may be there for 3 or 4 hours.

It’s a good thing I said on the permission slip we would arrive home at 6pm.

***  
Exactly Noon, I am in the elevator to go to the Women’s clinic centre…there is a petite, middle aged lady beside me. I’m wearing a bulky sweater and I’m looking at my feet.

The door opens.

We step off.

She looks at me and asks:

”Are you going to the women’s clinic?”

I nod.

She pats my arm. I resist the urge to jerk it back.

“Go downstairs and have a coffee or something, it’ll be boring in here, come back five minutes prior to the appointment.”

I nod and head down the elevator.

God, I hate coffee. I had been drinking it so frequently, but it left a slick, oily taste in my mouth, no matter what brand it was.

I wish I brought a book.

***  
I came back 10 minutes before my appointment. They had a TV screen outside the door so they could verify if you were alone before buzzing you in.

There was a girl and her female friend in the waiting room.

I was called to the desk and had my ID checked and verified. She asked:

”All alone?”

I bit my lip.

“Yes.”

She smiled. There was glass separating us so we could not touch, but I saw her hands twitch as if she wanted to reach out.

“That’s okay. We will have a nurse call you in for a quick evaluation in a jiffy here.”

I smiled. This was going to be okay.

***  
I did not read any of the magazines.  
I pretended really hard to look like I wasn’t eavesdropping on the other girls’ conversation.

After about five minutes, she was called in, but her friend was told to wait in the room.

After fifteen minutes, I was called in. She looked surprised that I was alone.

***

We sat in an office. She introduced herself but I cannot remember her name. I want to say Karen because I think she looked like one. I do not remember though.

Karen asked the usual questions:

”Any known family history of X, Y, or Z?”

I answered honestly:

”No”

I left out the part about my parents never taking us to the doctor because they said “better to not know than to find out you’re dying.”

That, and they always told us we were faking anyway.

Karen didn’t notice I left that part out.

She continued.

“First pregnancy?”

“Yes.”

“Have you considered birth control?”

“No.”

“May I ask why?”

“Well…I’m gay and I wasn’t planning on being raped.”

Karen frowned and looked me dead in the eye.

“Do you consent to non-sexual touch?”

I cocked my head but nodded and re-affirmed:

“Yes?”

She reached out and touched my hand. Squeezing it with surprising strength.

“You’re quite a strong woman. Do you have someone waiting downstairs for you?”

“No.”

“I see…have you gone to counselling for this?”

“No.”

“Would you like to?”

This shocked me.

I had never been asked if I would -like- help.

I opened my mouth to reply but found my mouth in a firm line. It wasn’t a few moments before I answered.

“I don’t live in the city.”

“We can have a youth counsellor in your town come to your school, that way your teachers have to allow the absence.”

I said I would love the help.

She beamed and wrote some notes down on a chart.

She asked more health related questions, and then got to:

“Do you consent to blood transfusion if required?”

I said “Yes”.

She told me:

”It’s funny, we had one lady say no, vehemently, even if it were life or death, since it was against her religion, yet she was here for the same reason--a termination” And she chuckled. I admit, I found this funny too.

Finally, at the very end of the chart she asked me:

”You are consenting to a termination of pregnancy under 20 weeks. Am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

No hesitation.

“Yes.”

“Alright, let’s get you into a bed.”  
***

We got into a larger, less office-like room, and told me to change into a hospital gown. No underwear or bra.

I walked into the bathroom and took notice of everything.

How white the floors were, how cold the tiles were, the latex paint on the wall, how streak free the mirror was…it was so surreal.

I got changed and found Karen at my bedside.

“Sorry hon, just a couple more things…do you need a taxi home?”

“I live almost 2 hours away”

“That’s okay, they’ll get paid for both trips.”

“What?”

“Do you have someone picking you up?”

“Well, no…”

“Take the taxi. That’s what the vouchers are for.”

I accepted the taxi.

“And lastly, what snack do you want? We have cookies, crackers and cheese, biscuits and chips. And for drink we have milk, water, pepsi, and ginger ale.”

I picked the cheese and crackers, and the ginger ale. She then set me up with an IV drip and took some blood.

I noticed the woman in the bed beside mine was also hooked up.

I remembered how she said I may be 3 or 4 hours. So far we were only twenty minutes in and I was nervous.

I asked Karen to come over, I think maybe I just needed the company.

“So…what will happen after?”

She didn’t seem annoyed by my questions.

“You may feel a lot of pain or discomfort for a few weeks. You’ll probably bleed during that time too, but it shouldn’t be worse than a normal period.”

She had no idea, but I don’t really know what a ‘normal’ period is.

“You can’t have penetrative sex for 2 weeks, no douching and no dildos, and definitely no tampons.”

I nodded but hoped that she didn’t notice the way I cringed when she talked about sex.

***

Some key things I noticed during my wait:

There were 3 other women who came in and were in the waiting room with us. The lady from earlier with her friend, and then two ladies both with their boyfriends. They looked no older than I was, and far more “punk” looking.

Seeing their boyfriends scared me. I felt uncomfortable with men in a room meant for me to have a safe procedure.

But…they had every right to be there with their partner as I did.

I was no better than they were.

But I was alone.

The lady from earlier I found out through eavesdropping, had 3 kids and didn’t want another.

I also found out that one of the other nurses and her went to high school together.

They had a long chat and were both laughing.

How?

Wouldn’t you be mortified, going in for an abortion and finding out someone you knew in high school worked there and was actively participating in your abortion?

I shuddered.

I’m glad I’m not her.

Karen was talking to everyone and making jokes.

She told us this story about how she accidentally took her sons house key with her, which has her car key on it but it’s his only car key and she laughed and said:

“Oh kids…you know, they’re so funny.”

No Karen, I don’t know.

And I don’t want to know.

That’s kind of why I’m here.

But she wasn’t trying to be insensitive or rude so I just smiled and waited.

She passed out cups of water and some pills and told me to eat them. I wasn’t sure what they were but I trusted her.

I don’t know if they changed how I felt.

But I’m not sure if that was the point.

***  
I don’t remember much else about waiting, but finally I was called in and I desperately tried to walk into the next room without exposing my butt to everyone.

Not that anyone would care.

There were two ladies in that room.

Both elderly and motherly.

They sat me on the paper covered table, legs in stirrups. I was so exposed.

I joked about being exposed.

I’m not sure how we ended up talking about knitting.

They set up more IV’s and tubes.

I was starting to feel like a machine.

They talked about the procedure and asked me again:

“Are you sure?”

I said, as firmly as before.

“Yes.”

They talked me through everything, confirmed I was actually pregnant and all that.

9 weeks and 2 days I found out.

God, was it really so long ago?

I guess so.

I counted it by the days, and I had 66 days so give or take a day, they were spot on.

They talked to me while she put the cold rod inside me.

I wanted to cry; my brain not being able to separate the feeling of this to the feeling from the event.

It hurt a lot, I felt an immense pressure inside me, like a period cramp, but ten times worse and more centralized.

She told me to press down on the area it hurt to relieve the pain.

I did as I was told.

But then there was blackness.

I wasn’t 100% sure when the drugs hit.

But when they hit they hit.

I was apparently conscious and alive the whole time.

But I don’t remember a thing.

The next thing I remember was one of the ladies sliding my underwear on me, with a massive pad attached to it.

I got embarrassed and pulled them up the rest of the way.

I asked them:

”Is it over?”

She smiled.

“It is. You’ll be okay.”

I said, maybe a little more cocky than intended but I blame it on the drugs.

“I know.”

I wanted to ask her more, but I was still high from…whatever it was that they gave me that I couldn’t even think about what I wanted to ask.

We walked back into the main room and I sat on the bed. I had my crackers and ginger ale waiting for me. I laid down and was greeted by Karen again. She asked me how I felt and I said “Fine”.

But I was anxious.

The deed was done, I wanted to go home.

How long have I been here?

Oh God.

It’s only been just over an hour?

I ate my snacks and laid in bed. About a half hour later Karen asked if I could walk.

I said yes.

She asked if I could use the bathroom and check the blood on the pad.

I forgot about that.

I got up and waddled to the bathroom.

I probably didn’t actually waddle.

But it felt like it…God, the pad felt like a diaper.

There was a little bit of blood, but not much. I didn’t notice it before, but across from the toilet on the wall was a little picture chart with 4 pads.

1: A little blood, okay.

2: A little more blood. Good.

3: A little more blood. Good.

4: Lots of blood. Bad.

Definitely more like picture 2.

I came out of the bathroom after washing my hands and she asked:

”Did you see the chart?”

I nodded.

“And what number do you think you have?”

“Umm...2”

“Good! Okay.”

I started to get nervous.

“Does…that mean I can go?”

She nodded.

“Yes, go get changed and we will write up that voucher. Oh! Also, make sure to get a follow up appointment with a doctor or walk in in 4-6 weeks.”

I was almost giddy! Well, I would have been but I felt heavy, not physically weighted heavy, but like I was walking through invisible fog.

I didn’t feel “empty”, in fact, I was so scared that they messed up.

I forgot to ask if they were sure it was gone.

I got changed and grabbed my voucher, I couldn’t believe I got to go home already.

But, I didn’t get to go home yet.

I waited in the hospital lobby, it felt too fast, I feel like I had more questions even though I couldn’t think of any.

What am I supposed to do now?

***

The ride home was awkward. I avoided all questions and hoped my silence would be enough for the driver.

I felt bad for him, but at the same time, he was getting paid so he shouldn’t complain.

And he didn’t.

***

I got home and everyone pretended like things were normal.

That’s a lie.

I got dropped off at home and then walked around to the back of the house and sat outside the fence.

I don’t remember how long I waited, but I knew when I got there initially, it was bordering four o’clock.

I walked in the house and went upstairs to my room.

***

The bleeding stopped around week 3. A week longer than they told me. I wasn’t too concerned.

The counsellor I had forgotten about pulled me from Math class.

I was happy for that.

I hated math class.

And we talked for well over an hour.

She told me I likely had a form of PTSD, which is a form of anxiety I found out, and potentially depression but she is unsure if the depression is a separate issue from PTSD, which can include depressive behavior. She told me this was not a diagnosis, but an evaluation so she can get me into a specialist.

But I would need parental consent to see the specialist as it would likely involve getting medication.  
Apparently, I can terminate a pregnancy but not get anti-depressants.

She gave me a bunch of forms and told me to get my parents to sign them, and she would be in the school every Thursday so I could drop them off.

I felt happy, maybe I would be normal after all…

But my friends still didn’t talk to me.

***

To this day, that mission that I went on, the ‘operation termination’ as I liked to call it, was the shining moment of my independence in my youth. Never had I fabricated such a scheme.

This next part required literally no fabrication, but I felt worse about it.

I handed my mom the form from the counsellor.

She laughed. Full chested, loud, cackling laugh.

“Depression? What do you have to be depressed about? Now, when -I- was younger…”

And she launched into the spiel I had heard a hundred times and for the first time in weeks I wanted to cry again.

“PTSD? What is she on about. Just because you regret something doesn’t give you a free pass here.”

I regret giving her the note.

I didn’t even take the papers back, I just went upstairs.

I don’t know what I was thinking, but I wrote in my diary  
“I lied. Sorry.”

I wanted to cover my tracks. I did what I had to do and now it was over.

I could forget about it, and hopefully my mom would let me go back to band.

It wasn’t for a couple weeks until we were sitting at dinner in our usual weird silence when she asked if we enjoyed dinner.

I said I did.

She said:

”You sure? Or are you just lying to mess with my feelings?”

Plan successful.

I’ll never forgive her for reading the note.

Even though…

That’s why I planted it.

I don’t know, I just felt like…my anger was now justified.

Even though…

The lie was a lie.

But I didn’t say that.

I said:

”No…it’s good.”

And left it at that.

***

It had been now a total of three and a half months since that awful day when I was raped in the ravine behind my school.

I told the counsellor my parents would not consent to treatment and she promised me she would talk to them.

I do not doubt that she tried.

My parents are very stubborn.

I did not get treatment.

I did not get help.

***

Epilogue:

5 years later, I ended up seeking the treatment I had been denied in my youth.  
I was an adult, living away from home, in University and working a stressful albeit decent job.

I got medication.

I got help.

It’s been 5 years since I got help.

I can’t believe it.

A decade has gone by.

I no longer remember the exact day anymore.

I think I do, but my brain doubts it.

“It could be the ninth…or the tenth?” But I know both of those are wrong.

I have graduated university.

I have 2 degrees.

I am married now.

I have a full time job and a productive hobby.

I have a wonderful home and wonderful students.

I am happy.

Finally.

Finally.

Finally.


End file.
